


off the clock

by SoftButch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A teeny bit of implied Mercyana in there too, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Masturbation, NSFW, Public Sex, Secret Crush, Seduction, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftButch/pseuds/SoftButch
Summary: Angela Ziegler regrets passing up her chance to get tangled up in the spider's web.





	off the clock

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I had a slightly younger Angela in mind while writing this, like somewhere in her mid twenties... so I'd say it takes place about ~12 years in the past. Enjoy!

Angela had no time for a workplace romance. They were far too unprofessional.

At least, that's the lie she told herself when she lay awake at night, lamenting the fact that she wasn't holding Amélie Lacroix.

Her growing crush on the distinguished woman was something she buried as deep as she possibly could within her steel-caged heart. Angela was well aware that, under normal circumstances, it was all sorts of wrong to pine over a married woman. However, she was very in the know about the worst kept secret in Overwatch; that said marriage was entirely loveless, carried out solely as a power move to increase the clout of the family names of Lacroix and Guillard.

It had all started two weeks ago, when Overwatch enlisted Gerard's wife, Amélie, to assist their field agents with coordination based exercises. She was impressively agile, rivalling even the speediest and most flexible of the most battle hardened warriors on Overwatch's payroll, due to her past pursuit of a career in ballet.

Amélie was once a renowned dancer on her home turf of Paris, snatching many awards and distinctions to show off as badges of honour. There was a massive, opulent trophy that sat on the shelf of her newly appointed office. The gaudy thing had been strategically placed to obscure the view of the single obligatory, passionless photo of herself and Gerard in her office, a fact that amused Angela endlessly.

It was the first time she had ever been called into Amélie's office that she realized her heart would long for Amélie Lacroix of its own accord.

With a mere glance around the room, it was obvious she had a flair for the over dramatic. Thick, black curtains that draped down to the floor were doing a bang-up job of keeping the sun out. The office's lights were currently turned on, albeit dim, but a few unlit candles dotted around the room made themselves known by the lingering smell of burning wax in the air. That, accompanied by the light scent of jasmine that permeated the room served to be an intoxicating combination, wreaking a surprisingly seductive havoc on Angela's senses.

She cleared her throat as she stepped into her parlour. Angela's presence pulled the woman out of the paperwork she was concentrating on, her amber eyes lifting to meet Angela's.

This was the first time she had seen the famed Amélie Lacroix in person, and her breath was taken away in an instant.

Amélie was wearing a simple white blouse. The top button left undone for comfort's sake. Her long jet black hair had been tied back into a high ponytail, with a few rogue strands of her tussled hair loosely hanging over her forehead. They bounced slightly when she moved her head to look up at Angela.

“You must be doctor Ziegler. Thank you for seeing me today,” said Amélie. She offered Angela a warm smile, one which Angela reciprocated with a nervous energy she couldn't hide. Just what had she stepped into?

“Anytime, Mrs. Lacroix.”

“Please,” she began, chuckling throatily at the use of her unwanted title, “just call me Amélie.”

The low laugh was what made Angela's ears start to burn.

“Sure thing, Amélie.”

“I want to call you Angela. May I?”

“Of course! Please, feel free. There's no need for formalities among friends,” Angela remarks as she takes a seat on the other side of Amélie's desk.

“Good. It is a beautiful name you have. One very befitting of a woman with such an... angelic presence.”

For the first time since she was a teenager, Angela's face burned with a hot red blush. The attraction she felt for Amélie Lacroix was instant and it was heavy and it muddled Angela's mind entirely.

“...It's nice to finally meet you, Amélie. I've heard much about you and your talents,” Angela beamed, fighting desperately to speak over the loud thrumming of her heart echoing in her ears. “I'm only just beginning to dip my toes into combat operations, myself. Perhaps we could train together sometime.”

“I would like that very much.” Amélie said coolly. She stood from her seat and moved over to a cupboard on the left side of the room. As she walked, Angela couldn't help but let her eyes trail down the woman's figure, taking a great interest in the black pencil skirt covering Amélie's legs.

Angela swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She quickly brought herself back to reality, privately chiding herself for her lingering gaze.

The french woman spoke with her back turned to her as she poured herself a glass of red wine.

“Would you care for a drink?”

“Oh, no,” Angela waved her hand dismissively in front of herself, “I don't drink while on the clock, but thank you for the offer.”

“Wise of you. In that case, I will have to steal you away after work sometime.”

She captured Angela's gaze with her burning amber eyes, and refused to let it go. Angela wanted to take her up on that offer then and there, but could only bring herself to nod along.

“That sounds like fun.”

_That sounds like “fun”?_ Angela bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from grimacing. _You idiot. What are you, ten years old?_

Amélie's dulcet tones snapped her out of her own self deprecating thoughts.

“Rumour has it that you dance through the sky with that combat suit of yours. Is that true?”

“I-I can fly it effectively, yes... but describing it as a dance makes it sound so much more graceful than it actually is!” Angela chuckled to herself fondly, remembering the first few disastrous test runs she had taken in her Valkyrie unit. The prototype builds of those combat suits were scuffed beyond all recognition.

“Nonsense. I'm sure it would be an exquisite sight... I love a good dance, you know. We have a lot of reason to meet up after work, I feel.” Amélie took a small, deliberate sip of wine. She looked Angela up and down with wanting eyes, a visible smirk behind the rim of the glass as she took in the doctor's red cheeks. “But listen to me prattle on. I apologize, doctor. Shall we get down to brass tacks?”

“Uh, yes, of course...”

 

...

 

Angela could scarcely remember the actual _reason_ she was called into Amélie's office that day, whenever she thought back on their encounter. She instead opted to replay that hungry amber gaze in her mind over and over again, the deep laugh she was lucky enough to be privy to, the effortless charm that clung to every single word she spoke. It made Angela feel light headed and horribly, horribly distracted while she was on the job.

The dizzying feeling would hit her like a ton of bricks whenever she would spot Amélie out of the corner of her eye in the cafeteria, or when she was sat two seats down from her during meetings, despite the fact that their eyes almost never met. She got little to no opportunity to _actually_ speak to Amélie after that, but her slightly lustful feelings continued to bloom privately with each passing day.

Such is the nature of a crush.

Deep down, Angela was endlessly, selfishly grateful that Amélie had no interest in her situational husband. It gave her room to daydream, to vividly imagine what life would be like if Amélie _actually_ took an interest in her.

They could mill about the nearby city late at night, hand in hand, both dressed to kill and with eyes burning with an intense passion that would manifest itself through heated kisses and greedy touches. The fantasy of Angela bursting into Amélie's office, and boldly declaring that she would save her from her mundane marriage was like something straight out of the trashy lesbian erotica novels she kept tucked away under her bed. The juvenile train of thought always made her a bit feel foolish, but it was still one she delighted in filling her mundane work days with.

A month or so after Amélie's arrival, rumours had begun to circulate around the water cooler of her partaking in a sordid affair with someone else under Overwatch's roof. The side of Overwatch that was less combat oriented had little better to do on slow days than to stand around the water cooler and gossip, spreading all sorts of ridiculous rumours to satiate their own boredom. Given Angela's base of operations being so close to reception, she had picked up on the gas bagging of many a receptionist and janitor in her off time.

Everyone had a different story; it was this person, it was that person. It was actually Gerard, _obviously_ , or perhaps it was that cute little intern working at weapons management by the docking bay. It was only a matter of time before the most commonly accepted theory was that it was the up and coming hotshot pilot who had been charming the pants off of every woman in the aviation department; Lena Oxton. The two of them had been caught making heated passes at each other in the hallways, or sharing lingering kisses when they thought no prying eyes were nearby, so the rumour went.

While Angela was disheartened, she was completely unsurprised by the rumblings of Amélie seducing some younger recruit flying around. With how bewitching Amélie was the _one and only time_ they had interacted, it was only a matter of time before she caught some pretty, unsuspecting bird in her spider's web of effortless charm.

Doctor Ziegler's heart was heavy over a married woman cheating on her spouse, which, when she thought of it that way, made her feel a bit silly. Her baseless crush had grown into such an entity all on its own, thanks to her overactive imagination. Amélie had never looked her way even once since then. That fact would certainly make her easier to get over, Angela rationalized to herself.

She felt blessed beyond description that the amount of uneventful blood test results to sign, seal, and deliver had been piling up on her desk over the last week. With that, the good doctor rolled up the sleeves of her lab coat, and began to combat her pining heart by burying her nose in her work.

She decided to put in a few off-the-clock hours to finish the arduous task. Being productive always felt rewarding. Angela deeply appreciated the ability to let her brain go into autopilot, a strange sense of calm taking over her work for her. Perhaps she would tidy up her office tomorrow to keep up the momentum; it was long overdue.

Angela had practically forgotten her earlier heartache amidst busying herself. It wasn't until the rest of the medical ward had cleared out for the evening, and her eyelids were drooping shut of their own accord that she decided it was time to head back to her bunker, and off to sleep.

She picked up one sealed envelope in particular -- the blood test results of one Amélie Lacroix. They were wholly uninteresting; Amélie was blood type AB, and that was about all her slip of paper had to say on the matter. Still, it was procedure to inform everyone of their results.

She turned the envelope over in her hands with a quiet conviction. If she got this particular delivery finished before any other one, her heart could finally begin to patch itself back up, starting tomorrow. She'd just stop by Amélie's office on her way back to her own bunker, slip it underneath the door, and close that small chapter of her life. A fresh start for Angela Ziegler with the rising of the sun; no more workplace crushes allowed.

The last one she had, the infamous Captain Ana Amari, was impossible to pursue for a slew of reasons she did not wish to stew on in the middle of all this. It had taken her a good month to get over that one. Why did she have to have such a type?

Angela sluggishly shuffled down the long hallway that lead to Amélie's office.

The sight that awaited her as she rounded the corner stopped her dead in her tracks.

Lena Oxton had her back pressed up hard against the wall, her arms fiercely clinging to Amélie Lacroix's neck, as if she was hanging on for dear life. Amélie boldly pressed her body up against Lena's, effectively pinning the smaller woman to the wall. She had one hand splayed out next to Lena's head, steadying herself, while the other snaked its way up her top.

As soon as she registered what was going on, Angela's mind checked out. She ducked back behind the corner she was stood near, as silently as she could, not drawing the attention of the two women mere feet away from her. From where she stood, she got a full view of what was taking place. She looked on, completely slack jawed and eyes as wide as saucers.

The rumours were definitely true.

 

Lena's laboured breathing was the only sound that could be heard in the empty hallway, her panting and the feverish moaning under her breath echoing off the walls and straight to Angela's ears.

“A-Amélie... shouldn't we should take this back to your office...?” Lena breathed, barely loud enough for Angela to hear.

Amélie chuckled a low, lust tinged chuckle against Lena's neck; one that sent sparks of arousal shooting up the spines of both Tracer _and_ Angela.

“I thought you _liked_ this sort of thing,” Amélie mumbles, marking Lena's neck with bright red lipstick stains. “The risk is ever so exciting, no?”

Amélie removed her hand from up Lena's top just long enough to drag it down her abs, and teasingly ran her palm along Lena's crotch. The smirk dripping with smugness that Amélie let creep across her lips made Angela physically ache with want _._

“Or... could it be that you want me to bend you over my desk again, cherie? Would you like that?”

Amélie easily shifted her body to press a thigh between Tracer's legs, as if she had carried out the motion hundreds of times before. Amélie's pencil skirt rode up her legs with the movement, exposing her thick thighs and the garters that she wore atop them, unknowingly giving Angela an eyeful. Lena hissed between clenched teeth, shamelessly allowing hips to roll against the taller woman's thigh, biting her lip to fight back a heady moan.

“I would... god, fuck, Amélie, I would...!”

Lena mumbled deliriously, her head rolling back against the wall, losing herself to Amélie's touch more by the moment. Amélie captured Lena's lips hungrily, silencing her lust crazed jabbering with a heavy kiss, all teeth and tongue.

Once Angela saw Amélie's slender fingers slip beneath the band of Lena's trousers, she decided it was high time she scurried back to her room before her peeping was found out.

Clutching the envelope to her chest and turning on her heel as quietly as she was able, Angela silently thanked every deity out there that her bunker was on the _other_ side of the base. She practically leaped into the elevator once the doors crawled open.

The scene kept playing through her head. Amélie's domineering demeanour, the things she grumbled hot against Lena's lips, her greedy, wandering hands... the wave of arousal that had washed over Angela was undeniable.

God, how she _wished_ that was her. The burning jealousy she felt toward Lena was incomparable, an unrelenting fire tearing through her consciousness and eating away at all of her common sense.

The elevator's squeaky doors lumbered open, and Angela flew out of them like a shot. She made her way down the living quarters hall, swung her bunker door open and locked it behind her. She haphazardly tossed the envelope she had no chance to deliver on her bedside table, promptly forgetting it ever existed.

She decided that would sleep. Sleep it off, forget any of this ever happened. Fresh start tomorrow, and all that. She sat on the edge of her bed with a bit of a slouch and a blank expression, her hands hanging over her knees, trying her damnedest to will her mind into stopping its ceaseless racing.

The fatigue of the day's work finally caught up with her the moment she sat down. She dragged her hands down her face with a deep sigh, her eyelids feeling horribly heavy.

She sluggishly stripped out of her work wear and let it fall to the floor, not bothering to hang it up. Her clothes wouldn't be going anywhere. She slowly slipped into a plain white t-shirt, flicked off her bedside lamp, forcibly huddled up beneath the covers, and made her eyes slip shut.

 

Naturally, when finally presented with the opportunity to rest after such a long day, her racing mind and aching body were working together to stop that from happening.

There Angela lay in the darkness of her room, now wide awake and stewing on how annoyed she was at her modest demeanour.

In retrospect, she had seen the bait the seductive woman was laying out in the open for her, but she was too shy to reach out and grab it. If Angela had been more forward that day in Amélie's office, if she had accepted the offer to go out for a drink with a confident swagger she knew she didn't have, it would have been her getting fucked against that wall.

It was _almost_ her...

The thought made the ache between her legs that much worse. She lay on her side with her idle hands resting between her thick thighs, squeezing them together in a vain attempt to quell the feeling of lust that had overtaken her. Her body pleaded with her to do _something_ to make the want lessen.

She couldn't help but let the scene from earlier run through her mind, over and over again. The more she thought about it, the more Lena Oxton started to look more and more like Angela Ziegler.

“ _I thought you_ _liked_ _this sort of thing,”_ Amélie mumbles in the scene she has conjured up in her imagination, this time leaving the red hot lipstick stains littered across Angela's pale neck. _“The risk is ever so exciting, no?”_

Angela bit her lip and rolled onto her back, lifting her hips off of the bed just enough to feverishly slip her plain underwear down her thighs. She slipped one leg out of them, not even taking the time to take them off properly.

She couldn't fool herself into holding back for even a second longer.

She touched at her slit with her fingertips, to see just how turned on this whole ordeal had made her. She was wetter than she had ever felt herself be; Ana didn't even come close to this. The cool nighttime air wafting in through her open window wasn't the only thing making her shiver anymore.

The Amélie in her mind's eye would feel her wetness and hum approvingly, hot against her ear, letting her fingertips be slicked with Angela's arousal before dragging them back up just enough to tease at her aching clit. Angela mimicked the motion she envisioned, exhaling shakily as her hips already began to roll upward with even the faintest of touches. She had never felt more desperate to cum before this.

“ _Look at how wet this has made you, Angela... wanting to get fucked by me does this to you, does it? How dirty.”_

Angela used her index finger to stroke up her clit with quick, repetitive flicks, rubbing it with fervour to the fantasy she had conjured up. Amélie's hands would be wandering all over her body. She would grab her ass possessively, and slip her palms up her hips, up further still, removing her hands from Angela's curves to cup her breasts in a way that made Angela shiver. She would make Angela grind her eager hips against Amélie's stocking clad thigh, just to observe all the ways Angela's body moved through lust lidded eyes.

Angela's breathing grew heavier with every deliberate stroke against her throbbing clit, her head spinning in the best, dizzying way. She gripped back at her pillow with her free hand, arching shamelessly into the touch of her quick fingers.

“ _My, my... are you touching yourself to the thought of me?”_ Amélie would murmur down at the woman making a mess of herself. _“You're trembling... have you done this while thinking about me before?”_

“...Yes...”

It was the truth.

“ _You want me to fuck you that badly?”_

Angela bit her lip. Even in her own fantasy, she wasn't coherent enough to respond with more than a heated moan.

Amélie would sink her teeth into Angela's shoulder just so. Angela jolted with a sharp gasp, sure that the slight pang of pain would make her knees all but buckle against the wall. Amélie would take her fingers off of her clit, staring down at the trembling woman she was pressed up against with a smoulder that radiated a powerful dominance.

In that low voice of hers, she would mutter, _“I asked you a question. Answer me.”_

“I want you to... fuck, Amélie...” Angela pleaded to the mirage in her mind, her forehead beading with sweat. She knew that she had been privately lusting after Amélie for weeks now, sure, but she hadn't realized _this_ was what she wanted the tussled woman to do to her.

Amélie would smirk. She would hook her fingers beneath the band of Angela's trousers and underwear, and pull them down to her knees; enough for easy access for Amélie, enough to be that much worse, should they get caught. Angela spread her legs wider at the thought, arousal beating out shame as she let a breathy noise of want escape her lips. She chose to save dwelling on whether or not she would be more mortified or horny by the idea of getting caught for another time.

“ _You're quite obedient, aren't you? Let me to give you what you want, pet.”_

Angela couldn't hold herself back any longer; if she was going to cum after all of this, she wanted to cum hard. With one last, teasing stroke up her clit, she excitedly guided her hand that bit lower, and slipped two fingers inside of herself with ease.

She was wet and hot and she could feel herself beginning to tremble already. She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her moans that embarrassed even her, and fervently fucked herself in the way she imagined Amélie Lacroix might.

When it came to touching herself like this, Angela never took her time. She moved her fingers vigorously, each movement making her head hazier with a heavy, unshakeable lust. Her palm rubbed up against her clit with every manic thrust of her fingers. The stimulating friction made it difficult to hold off from cumming, but she was determined not to for just a bit longer. The building heat made her delirious, made her crave more of her touch – of _Amélie's_ touch.

Amélie would be good in bed, without question. With deft fingers, she would work Angela as fast as she begged her to, and she'd do it all with a bravado that would make Angela want to completely and utterly submit herself to her. Angela would keep Amélie pulled close to her with her arms around her neck, shamelessly pleading with her to fuck her harder as she would drag her short fingernails harder down Amélie's back.

“ _How needy you are, Angela... clinging to me like this... ah... nn...”_

Angela was sure that even the perpetually smug Amélie would lose herself in their intense fucking, shivering every time Angela squeezed her perfect thighs around Amélie's waist. She would be panting hard and grunting against Angela's ear as her once meticulous thrusting became much more wanting and frantic, mirroring what Angela was doing alone in her bed.

The thought of Amélie's restrained moans of pleasure was what sent her over the edge.

 

Most days, when Angela came, it was very much a subdued act. She might grunt under her breath, or maybe tremble a bit more than usual, before unceremoniously curling up to fall asleep afterward.

Tonight, she saw stars. She clamped a trembling hand over her mouth to try to stop the loud moans she let slip past her lips, her muffled scream echoed in her empty room. Her hips twitched erratically upward against her palm, riding the wave for as long as she possibly could before she let her arching back collapse back down onto the bed.

She laid in the dark, completely spent and basking in the satisfying, mellowing afterglow of a damn good orgasm. Her heavy eyelids began to shut of their own accord, but even after cumming so hard, she felt compelled to lick her own fingers clean. Her mind _still_ wouldn't let her rest properly.

She hadn't even thought about servicing Amélie back yet, after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I realized the other day that I've had my ao3 account for six years now (!? how) and never actually posted anything to it so what better time than the present!! I wanted to write Amelie as the kind of lady who blew off work to fool around with girls all day so that was a lot of fun lmao 
> 
> thanks for reading, hope y'all liked it :)!


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